


Passage

by Thevetia



Category: Master and Commander - O'Brian
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-18
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thevetia/pseuds/Thevetia





	Passage

For nearly forty years Stephen had been predicting that Jack would die of an apoplexy if he persisted in his customary habits of life, and for all those years his professional prophesying had proved false. Jack had continued to eat and drink immoderately and with great enjoyment; to plunge happily into water and exert himself in swimming; to rush in and out of all weathers and damps without care for any shock to his frame; and to engage in the ardent expression of his affection whenever circumstances permitted; though this last was not an activity which Stephen could deplore without hypocrisy. Jack's health remained as robust as was possible for a man of his years and with as many injuries as he had sustained; and indeed greater than that of many men half his age.

When the end came, it was not with the suddenness that Stephen had schooled himself to expect: the quick rending of life that made passing easy. Jack lingered for several months, gradually weakening, slowing. His ruddy complexion growing pale, his appetite failing. Steps became hesitant, he was breathless crossing the yard, then crossing the parlor. His cheer never faded, even when at the last he was confined to his chair; spending the last, long summer days at the window, gazing out over the fields somewhere towards the sea, pretending to doze, pretending he was not in pain.

George and Charlotte had come, but Fanny would never receive word in time, and Stephen took some care in writing to her, not wishing to shatter her hard-won happiness. Jack just laughed, wincing as he did so, and told him Fanny was a sensible girl, not likely to jump on a ship from the far side of the world, when common sense told her it would be too late.

Stephen could still cow with his physician's authority, and he made sure Jack's children, and their families, did not overly disturb Jack in his last days. Mostly the two men sat together, making do with the ordinary commonplaces of life. Commonplaces that now were painfully dear to Stephen, as the memories of their life together.

Jack was buried in Woolcombe church, next to Sophie, under the Aubrey monument in the south chancel, joining the dust of 200 years of Aubreys. George had a new monument carved and placed on the wall, listing "Admiral John Aubrey's" victories and distinctions, tastefully adorned with drooping flags and irrelevant willows and urns.

The English spring of poetic fame had never quite appealed to Stephen. Too rough and changeable, with its sudden blights that destroyed bird and flower and hopes together. The summer had been more to his liking; long days stretching into long musical twilights; time to roam and time for watching all things hasten and grow; enough sunny days for productive labor, and the inevitable rain providing a chance to reflect and re-invigorate.

Now, it was autumn, with the leaves shaking off the trees and whirling after the southbound birds. The sky was a brilliant blue, of a shade that Stephen could scarcely bear to look at.

In his rooms, his letters were written; his belongings, such as he cared for, packed, labeled, or boxed. It was time to go.

For more than the space of a few moments Stephen contemplated his pistols. But even if his melancholy found the thought attractive, his religion, and still more his sense of the ridiculous, shook him from the morbid thought. Jack would be so sorely disappointed in him.

Jack, who had loved him without reason, and whom Stephen had loved past reason.

There was nothing left now in England to keep him from home.


End file.
